Elegy for a Cowboy
by B2
Summary: The surreality of living. The frail quality of a dream. The temporality of life. Faye and Spike are both ghosts, living in the present but haunted by their pasts. [Spoilers for the end of "Cowboy Bebop."]


Elegy for a Cowboy

One eye looked to the past. One eye looked to the present.

She took a drag of her cigarette. The embers flared briefly for a moment as she inhaled deeply. A small orange eye glowed in the gray dusk of the apartment.

One eye forever fixed to a single point.

With a careless flick of her wrist, the eye blinked and a few flakes of ash drifted to the floor.

One vision. One image. One dream.

She exhaled. Smoke wafted from the small scarlet circle of her mouth in long, lazy eddies.

One illusion.

The woman slowly raised the cigarette to her lips, poised to take another drag. The bright cinder winked at her, conspiratorially, mischievously. She paused, the cigarette dangling precariously between her slender fingers. Annoyance and anguish flickered in her quiet green eyes.

Blinded.

With slow, deliberate motion, her fingers closed over the lighted end. A puff of ash erupted from her scorched fingertips.

For no eye looked to the future.

***** 

The plane glided easily over the sunset-dappled ocean.  Merry childish chatter chimed in the air, a silvery fall of sound. The incessant tut-tut of a pinwheel ran through it, a faint, syncopating staccato.

Her hand moved mechanically in time over the controls. The plane swung back and forth like a giant aerial metronome. But neither she nor the child noticed the erratic movement of the plane.

_I thought I was seeing a ghost!_

Her hands stopped, suspended above the controls like a maestro pausing before the next movement, petrified by a sudden, disquieting cough of memory.

I'm a ghost, she echoed to herself.

She recalled the bent figure sitting in the park that afternoon, where the sun slung down its molten rays and the world revolved about her in a gaudy kaleidoscope of blue, green, and white. She stood, facing that smiling old dame. But the clear green eyes that met the rheumy gray ones were not the same.

I don't understand, she thought despairingly. I don't understand what happened. How could it be that that grandmother and I were once friends? It doesn't seem real. Is this a dream? Or a nightmare?

Her hands shook. She needed a cigarette. Now. Something to calm her nerves, occupy her, give her a semblance of reality.

But she knew me. She knew my name. She knew what had happened. Even though I have never seen her before in my life.

Her fingers fumbled with the box. The cigarettes slithered out and rustled to the floor of the cockpit. Her hand crushed the empty carton.

I don't remember anything.

"Damn," she whispered. She threw the box at the window. It rattled hollowly against the glass before tumbling to the floor.

_I thought I was seeing a ghost!_

She was right. I've been dead to everyone.

A high childish voice, accompanied by the rhythmic plastic flap of a pinwheel, floated down to her. The burden of a child's song: _Ho, ho, hotaru koi, yama michi da! Ando no hikari o chotto mite! _

Have I ever been alive? she wondered.

And she remembered, watching the animation of the child's face fade, listening to the child's talk falter then collapse to silence. The girl regarded her bewilderedly, fearfully. Her eyes wide, her face pale as if she were seeing a ghost.

The childish voice piped out: _Ho, ho, hotaru koi! Ho, ho, yama michi koi!_

The grandmother spoke once more but she heard not a word. She had run away then. As if distance could somehow allow her to escape the past, old and worn, seated before her disbelieving eyes.

But she couldn't run away. She had nowhere to go. 

*****

The pack of cigarettes lay unopened next to her thigh.

"Julia," she said softly. With one hand, she upended the bottle into the glass. A stream of amber sloshed over the rim. She stopped, the bottle suspended in the air. The burble of the liquor and the clink of the glass seemed obscene in the wake of that name. She dropped the bottle onto the seat beside her.

She said the name once more, and the sad, lovely music of it hung long in the air. And with the name floated an image, insubstantial and transient, before her mind's eye: a gleam of gold, a glance of blue, and a sad, red smile. It lingered before her, elusive and vaporous, like the bitter haze of cigarette smoke in a crowded barroom. She longed to forget but could not.

She repeated the name and dropped her head into her hands, the full glass forgotten.

*****

Who am I? she asked her reflection in the mirror. But the lovely image only stared back, mute and bewildered.

_That is a question that every human asks himself at least once in his life._

I've wondered so many times. I've wanted to know for so long.

_Isn't that something that really doesn't matter?_

I don't know anything about myself. And I need to know. I must know.

_You were able to reawaken . . . just like Sleeping Beauty._

I didn't remember anything when I woke up. Where I was . . . who I was . . .. Everything had changed. I knew nothing.

_Then this is a dream . . ._

Without my past, I have no history, no place. I don't belong.

*****

A storm of gunfire, a hurried invitation, the squeal of tires on the pavement and she found herself flying along the highway in an open convertible. A hasty alliance formed in a brawl, sisterhood discovered in a violent confusion of men.

She leaned back, her body sinking into the hot leather of the seat. For a moment, she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the brilliant noon sun and the cool wind that whipped her hair into a dark frenzy. She automatically raised her hand to tame the wild strands that leapt about her face. But it was futile. Her hand dropped to rest on top of the door.

Her gaze panned across the desert landscape before reluctantly alighting on the woman beside her. Her companion stared straight ahead, her hair a long, golden banner fluttering in the wind. A standard a man would willingly follow to his destruction. And the woman was a lovely Madonna, with her fragile, sorrowful face and her unworldly eyes, blue and distant like the heavens that spanned above her speeding car. And her mouth, crimson and sinful, knew the dark kisses of men.

She looks like a rose in the rain, she thought, turning her eyes to the horizon once more. Beautiful but sad. And there's something else about her—something strange but familiar. Her eyes—

The car screeched to a halt. The woman slipped out, resting against the bright red flank of the vehicle. She too eased out of the car and stood beside her companion. Her comrade reached into her purse, withdrawing a cigarette. A sharp click, a momentary flame and the cigarette glowed. The woman took a deep pull and said, as the smoke spiraled up, "You saved me."

Her ear unconsciously strained to catch the mournful music of that low voice. But she answered readily, "No problem. It's what a bounty hunter does."

The woman spoke again. "Bounty hunter?" Her words hesitated, caught in the swirling smoke of her cigarette. The blue eyes regarded her intently for a moment.

"Yeah. What are you, something like that? Why were they after you?"

A fleeting silence. The blue eyes turned away, staring off into the distance. Then: "Something like that."

"You're pretty good." She grinned, her eyes twinkling, amused, mischievous. "It might be good to pair up with another woman. You want to team up, you and me?"

The woman continued to gaze across the water. "Do you know a lot of bounty hunters? I'm looking for one," she inquired. The woman did not seem to hear the last remark.

She wheeled about to face her companion, startled. The serene expression had shifted slightly; a small smile curved the sinful red mouth. But it did not reach her eyes. 

*****

She woke from her stupor with a start. The bottle clinked against the glass with a harsh, cold sound. She rubbed her bleary eyes and nudged the empty bottle further down the seat. She groped in the darkness for her cigarette box.

The crackle of cellophane sounded like a gunshot. She winced, pressing her hand against her throbbing temple. She reached into her pocket for a lighter and removed a cigarette from the box in one fluid motion.

She touched the light to the cigarette and dropped the lighter to the floor. She puffed once, and the embers flared for a moment, a small orange eye in the dark.

*****

The sun flung down brilliant shafts of light. The sky whirled and frothed blue and white. Fronds rustled past in an emerald blur. The faint cry of a gull sounded overhead. Suddenly the world shifted, flashing past in streaks of blue, green, white. Finally, the camera touched down on the child standing in the middle of a wide lawn.

"Do your best! Do your best!" she cheered, "A-TA-SHI!" Pompons spun in rustling arcs of color.

Click. The pompons became still. The machine whirred for a moment. Click. The childish singsong broke forth again. "Don't give up! Don't give up!"

Click. The machine whirred again. Click. Once more the sky whirled and frothed. Fronds rustled in the breeze. A dazzling glimpse of the sea burst forth. A chimera in stone crouched low, guarding the mouth of the harbor.

Click. The whir of the machine began once more. Click. The child ran towards the camera. Click. The girl froze in mid-stride, her green eyes wide in protest.

That's me, but— Her eyes left the glowing image on the screen and traveled over the bare walls, the small dresser, and the white bed before finally coming to rest in the shadowy mirror.

How can that be? she wondered despairingly, looking into the dusky glass. The face stared mutely back at her. I'm here— Her eyes wandered once more to the girl on the screen. I just don't understand.

Click. The machine whirred. Click. The childish voice rose once more. "Do you feel good to be alive? Do you feel like a new person today? You're the new me."

Who am I?

Click. The whir of the machine began. Click. "What am I doing in the future? Am I alone?" 

It's like a dream, she thought. Or a nightmare.

Click. The machine whirred. Click. "Um . . .I'd like to tell my future self . . .um . . . good morning."

I'm here and I'm there. But how can that be? Where am I? Who am I?

Click. The whir of the machine began again. Click. The girl stood, fidgeting, in the middle of a wide green lawn. "Um . . .we've decided . . .to record a message to ourselves ten years in the future."

Do I belong here? Do I belong there?

Click. The machine whirred. Click. The girl leapt into the air, pompons swishing.

Where do I belong?

Click. The machine whirred once more. Click. The sky whirled and frothed. Fronds rustled in the breeze.

Do I belong here? Her eyes, wide and troubled, scanned the room again.

Click. The machine whirred for a moment. Click. "Do you feel like a new person today?"

I don't know.

Click. The machine whirred again. Click. "Either way, it's okay. Don't be sad."

But I can't stay here.

She rose. The remote control tumbled to the floor. A sudden noise broke the stillness. Click. The machine whirred again and a clear, high voice rang out.

"I'm no longer here."

*****

Gone.

Flakes of ash spiraled slowly to the ground. Her eyes followed their descent down, moving with the same slow, slight grace.

Just like that.

She continued to stare at the ash scattered across the dark floor. Though cold, they seemed to glow faintly still, minute points of white and gray.

But I knew, didn't I?

The ashes began to expand, gradually coalescing into a blinding, gray blank.

Yes, I knew. I've known it all along.

And she was gazing, not at the dark floor or the ashes, but at that frightening grayness, that dull, empty space.

But still—

And something was falling, small and white, falling without cessation into that void.

I wanted—

Suddenly, the ashes fell apart, scattering across the floor once more in minute points of white and gray.

No, I knew. I knew it all along.

*****

His eyes gazed at her, faraway, hazy. His face was tired, worn.

_Then __this is a dream._

"You said that the past doesn't matter," she said softly, looking down at the ground. Suddenly, she looked up, her eyes blazing. "But you're the one who can't let go of the past," she spat.

He turned, pinning her against the wall with his eyes, barring her with his hand by her side. She felt his breath caress her cheek. She waited, tense, expectant.

"I lost my eye in an accident a long time ago."

His eyes stared back at her, still remote, still hazy. One brown eye. One crimson eye. She stepped back, stunned, her back pressing into the cold, unyielding wall.

"One eye watches the past . . . and one watches the present."

Her hand tightened on the gun.

"I believed what I saw wasn't all of reality," he continued gently.

"Don't tell me things like that," she implored sullenly. "You never told me about yourself before. Don't tell me things like that now."

But he went on. "I thought I was watching a dream I would never wake up from."

A dream? Her breath caught in her throat. A vision appeared before her—the uneven lines scratched in the dirt, the scattered ruins, the ancient trees, the desolate hush of that lonely twilight as she lay staring at the stars.

Suddenly, he grinned. A wide bow that stretched from ear to ear. But the mirth did not reach his eyes. They were still distant, detached. Still fixed to an unknown, far-off point.

_I'm just watching a dream I never woke up from._

"And then I woke up."

She watched him amble away, his tall lanky frame slightly hunched over. He moved slowly as if his feet were wheels, rolling along with his peculiar leisurely gait. As if he were simply stepping out for a smoke. Strolling carelessly, relentlessly towards death.

"I . . . I got my memory back," she said quietly, her head bowed. He paused. She looked up, her eyes stricken, desperate. "But everything's gone! Everything I ever had is long gone, and I'm alone again. Where can I go now? The Bebop is the only place I can call home!"

She thought, for a moment, that she had seen him move. A barely perceptible twitch of his hand as if her words had struck some hidden chord. Of understanding? Of sympathy? No, it can't be, I must be mistaken, she thought.

He resumed his walk to the bay. "Where are you going? Why do you have to go?" she cried out. She ran after him and stopped before him, blocking his path. "Are you just going there to die?"

"No," he answered simply. "I really don't want to die." He flashed her another lopsided grin before he continued on. "I just want to see if I've ever been alive."

*****

The planet became a small, shimmering azure point in the black expanse of space. As the plane shifted higher into the heavens, the point winked out, snuffed out by distance.

She turned her eyes away and directed them forward.

I didn't belong there. I tried to go back—back to my home, back to my old life—but everything was gone.

_I'm a ghost._

I thought that I could somehow get back what I had lost.

_They say ghosts appear in places where they have regrets._

But I can't return to the past.

_No matter the past—_

I can't have regrets.

_You have somewhere you belong._

But where do I look to now? Where else can I go? Where do I belong?

_You still have the future._

The plane suddenly turned right. It headed towards the east—back to the Bebop. 

*****

The pack beside her was empty. The ashtray overflowed. The cigarette dangled cold between her lips. Her fingertips tingled.

Morning and afternoon passed. Night was approaching.

But she continued to stare out across the blackness beyond the glass, her eyes, wide and unseeing, fixed upon a remote star.

*****

The woman looked at her. Her eyes were unearthly, as blue and as distant as the sky.

Her eyes look familiar, she thought again, a little bewilderedly. Dreamy and remote. As if she were looking at a distant point that no one else could see.

The woman smiled again. And she was once more overwhelmed by the heartbreaking loveliness of the woman before her.

Where have I seen those eyes before?

_I'm just watching a dream . . ._

The low dulcet music of the woman's voice floated out to her. "It's time we leave. Get in."

Her eyes remind me of someone . . . 

She nodded absently to her companion and complied.

Of him. His eyes were like that, as if looking at something far away, searching for something beyond the moment.

_I never woke up . . ._

"What's your name?"

The music of the woman's voice pulled her out of her reverie once more. She looked at her companion a little dazedly. But she replied, her voice clear, unfaltering, "Faye. Faye Valentine. And yours?"

A brief pause. She looked at the sinful scarlet mouth forming the words, listened to the sweet husky melody of the woman's voice, and wondered again at the unreal beauty of the woman beside her.

What was he seeing?

The name lingered long in the air—three brief syllables, three poignant notes sounding with strange and startling clarity.

"Julia."

His eyes looked here. Focused on the dream of the woman beside her.

The car slowed to a halt. She clambered out. The woman glanced at her companion before turning her eyes to the stretch of road before her. "Please tell Spike to meet me there. I'll be waiting for him." The woman lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. "I—"

But the woman's parting words were lost to her, drowned out by those three notes that still reverberated in the air between them and the gunning of the engine.

*****

The cards beat fitfully beneath the low hum of her voice. An old familiar melody.

A slight rustling interrupted her music.

She turned to the prone figure on the couch. He was staring at her from beneath the ribbon of gauze that had slipped from his unruly crown of hair. She dropped her pack.

"You're awake," she said as she moved closer to him. "You've been asleep for three days."

_I thought I was watching a dream I would never wake up from._

She removed the bandage from his eyes. She drew in a startled breath. There was a clear, bright look in his eyes she had never seen before. It was like a lance of light dissolving the mists on the horizon. He seemed a stranger. She shrank back a little, feeling vaguely frightened.

At her movement, the keen glance in his eyes faded, clouded over with their habitual distance once more.

*****

The dead cigarette fell to the floor.

He was a fool. So foolish to look to a past dream.

She ground the cigarette to pieces beneath her heel.

Killed by a dream he refused to let die.

A slight swirl of ash rose from the fragments.

He failed to look to the future.

She closed her eyes. A drop fell from her lash.

He was so stupid.

Another tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it angrily away.

_So there is no place for me, after all._

And I—I was—

_Just watching a dream._

Blinded.

_A dream . . ._

One image. One vision. One dream.

_I would never wake up from._

One illusion.

_Then I woke up._

And that dream was over as well.

************************************************************

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

I interspersed the scenes with flashbacks of actual conversations between various characters in "Cowboy Bebop." It took an age to collect all the quotes I wanted. _ (Thanks to "s.e.e.y.o.u.s.p.a.c.e.c.o.w.b.o.y." for the detailed synopses. They really helped.)


End file.
